Alle Kapitel von I Am Their Mother: Rebirth Of The Wicked Stepmother : Kapitel 101 – Kapitel 110

The aftermath of the Great Kitchen Disaster refused to die. In fact, if anyone had asked Clara, she would have happily declared that the incident deserved to be remembered for generations. Songs should be written about it. Memorial plaques should be installed. Future children should be warned about it in history books. Unfortunately for Jade, she had made it her personal mission to ensure that nobody—especially him—ever forgot what had happened. The entire morning, she found reasons to bring it up. Every single chance she got. Sometimes she didn't even need a reason. As she helped Sophie button her little yellow jacket, Clara casually glanced toward Jade, who was sitting on the sofa scrolling through his phone with the kind of calm expression only a man completely detached from reality could maintain after committing crimes against cookware. "You know," Clara said thoughtfully, as though she had just remembered something profound, "most people buy breakfast." Jade didn't even

The drive to the Whitmore estate was unexpectedly quiet. Not the tense kind of silence that usually settled between people after an argument. Not the awkward silence of two strangers trapped in the same space. It was comfortable and peaceful. Almost... nice. For the first time in what felt like forever, neither Clara nor Jade was trying to strangle the other with words. There were no sarcastic remarks. No threats, no dramatic declarations. No Sophie throwing herself across the car like a missile to prove some ridiculous point. Just the steady hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of wind outside as the city slowly faded behind them. Clara sat by the window, watching the scenery change. Towering buildings gradually gave way to quieter roads. Busy streets became open landscapes. The further they drove, the more distant the city felt. And with every mile, Clara felt her chest growing heavier. Because she knew exactly where they were going. Home. Her fin

The moment Clara stepped through the Whitmore mansion doors, her entire world seemed to stop. Not because anything inside had changed. But because nothing had. Servants moved through the halls carrying trays, maids quietly attended to their duties, fresh flowers decorated every corner, and the familiar scent of polished wood and expensive tea filled the air. The soft clinking of porcelain echoed somewhere in the distance, blending perfectly with the peaceful atmosphere she remembered so well. It was home... The same home she had grown up in. The same home she had once taken for granted. The same home she had lost. And seeing it again hurt far more than she expected. Her chest tightened painfully as tears gathered in her eyes. Then she heard her mother's voice. Soft, elegant, and gentle. The voice that had comforted her nightmares when she was little. The voice that had always stood between her and the rest of the world whenever she needed protection. "Tell them no

The next few hours passed far more pleasantly than Clara ever could have imagined. For the first time in years, she found herself simply sitting with her family and enjoying their company. There were no schemes, no arguments, no hidden agendas, and no exhausting drama. It was just family-laughing, talking, and spending time together. It was the kind of simple happiness she had never fully appreciated in her previous life, and now she found herself cherishing every second of it. Naturally, Ethan was responsible for most of the chaos. The moment he realized Clara was indulging him instead of threatening him, he became completely impossible. Sprawled across the couch, he began listing increasingly ridiculous things he wanted from her, starting with expensive watches and motorcycles before somehow escalating to yachts, private islands, and half the family company. Everyone laughed at his nonsense, assuming it would go nowhere, until he jokingly added one final request.

Clara had not realized how quickly time had passed until the golden glow of the late afternoon began spilling through the tall windows of the Whitmore mansion. The entire day had disappeared in what felt like mere moments. One minute she had arrived, and the next she was sitting comfortably on the large sofa surrounded by the people she loved most in the world. Laughter drifted through the room as naturally as breathing. Stories she had heard countless times before somehow felt brand new again. Richard Whitmore had long since abandoned any intention of reading the newspaper resting on his lap and instead spent most of the afternoon arguing with Ethan about everything imaginable. One moment, they were debating business strategies; the next, sports teams; and somehow, the discussion had evolved into a heated disagreement about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Victoria Whitmore alternated between scolding everyone for their behavior and secretly spoiling them moments l